“Curtis, what is with the phone tag? Why can’t I reach you? At least leave a voicemail, asshole. Call me.”

Callie punched the ‘off’ button on her cell phone and dropped it back into her bag. She hadn't spoken to more than Curtis' voicemail in weeks, and hadn't heard from him since he’d left her a terse message that he’d be skipping the awards show. She'd hoped to see him before he headed to Toronto, but now she was back in LA to work with JC on the first two songs they'd picked from her collection.

Paula was putting her up again. Callie was full and slightly uncomfortable—she’d scarfed down two cinnamon rolls, just happy to be eating something fresh out of an oven. She made a few calls while waiting for the car to come pick her up.

‘I’ve GOT to get a car here. I hate waiting for other people,’ she thought to herself.

The phone rang in her bag. 'Finally, dipshit,' she thought. Without checking the display, picked up the line.

“Curtis.”

“Hi, honey!” came her mother’s sing-song voice. Callie closed her eyes and sighed. She couldn’t handle much of her mother. Most days it was all she could do to remain civil.

“Hi, mom. What’s up, I’m on my way to a session.”

“Well, nothing’s up," she cooed sweetly. "I just, you know, checking in on you. I don’t hear much from you. I get all my news from Jason.”

“Well, that’s what he gets paid for, isn’t it?  Your husband’s son is a WINNER.”

Her mother sighed. Callie did not take her second marriage well, but she was sure that Callie’s father would want her to be happy. Ever since he died suddenly, she had been cold and angry and their relationship was virtually nonexistent. Jason was older than Callie, but Callie thought he was a daddy’s boy and they never really connected as family. He wasn't a bad manager, and really, no one else would put up with her tantrums. He did what needed to be done and had done so for six years. Callie got pleasure out of making her uncomfortable for caring about her career and wanting someone she knew close to her.

“Anyway" she continued, ignoring the obvious insult to her stepson. "Jason says the label has you working with a new producer? Some unknown?”

“He’s not unknown. Just not really famous for his producing.”

“Oh. So… but… you’re still working with him?”

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for blue eyes. Jason tells you tons of shit, but doesn't tell you the whole story. I don’t have a choice. The label wants to hear something different and… well I just don’t want any trouble right now. We’ll see where it goes. If he sucks, that’s the end of that. I’m not going to waste my time.”

“Well, alright. If you’re confident...”

“Don’t worry Mom, your spa days won’t come to an end anytime soon. I gotta go, the car is here. Talk to you later.” Callie ended the call before her mother could sputter and insist she wasn’t living off of Callie, when she knew full well she was.  They all were. Callie couldn’t fail anytime soon—her family’s quality of life was mortgaged on her next hit.

“I’m pretty sure 11 does not mean 11:45. What time did my manager tell you to show up?” Callie fumed as she stepped into the car.

“11:45, miss.” The driver showed her his assignment sheet. Callie sighed, riding in silence, not offering up an apology for her rant. She watched the city speed by as the car maneuvered back to West Hollywood, this time to a residential area, up a winding road to a large, three–story, squarish white home.  The front door opened as the car pulled into the driveway.

Callie tipped the driver, extra for her bitchy tone and said she’d call him when she was ready to leave.  JC stood in the doorway as she climbed the front steps and stepped aside to let her into his house.

“I hope you don’t mind meeting here," he said. The sound of the door closing almost echoed up into the vaulted ceilings. "I work a lot at home-- I have a studio downstairs. We’ll just be more comfortable here than in some meeting room. Can I get you anything?”

Something smelled so delicious it made her mouth water. “Do I smell coffee?" JC nodded and bounded to the kitchen. Callie dropped her bag on the floor next to a massive table in an even bigger dining room and looked around. The furniture was eclectic but classy, in dark woods and bold colors. Vintage prints and works of art were framed and hung liberally throughout the dining and living room. Along one wall stood a tall glass case with built in shelves that held miniature statues and multiple awards.

‘So obviously, he knows what he’s doing. Or did, at some point,’ she thought.

“I just made this pot, so it's nice and hot. It’s good stuff, from some gourmet shop my mom found. Her new thing is sending me coffees of the world, or something like that.”

“It smells amazing. Thank you," she said, gingerly holding the steaming mug.  "I’m a big fan of coffee,” Callie said, taking a sip. “Oh my GOD. That IS really good.”

“I told you. I’ll send you home with some beans, if you want. I have a ton of it. She… she goes kinda nuts.”

Callie fought a pang of jealousy as she enjoyed another taste. “Your mom sounds sweet.”

JC beamed. “She is. So, uhm. I thought we’d work downstairs in case you wanna hop on a keyboard or something. You play, right?” He tipped his head toward the staircase.

“Is the sky blue?” Callie shot out, following him down the stairs and down the hall.

“Thought so. So, we talked  about six songs, right? One of them you said you’d have to rewrite. Did you work on that at all?”

“Some,” Callie said, setting her mug down on a worn table of thick, knotted wood. They sat opposite each other, he in a chair and she on the couch, and she spread out her recent work for him to peruse. 

"This song is giving me a shitfit. I guess, since it's like real life, like... something that actually happened, that I’m trying rewrite it about something that never happened and bring the same level of emotion and... it's just not coming to me.”

“Well, what's the backstory? Maybe we can draw some parallels.”

Callie stalled for time, not feeling comfortable enough yet to discuss her relationship troubles with him, let alone her relationship troubles with a fellow well known artist. "Uhm...let’s work on a different song, for now. I just… I need more time.” She snatched the page up and tucked it away in her bag.

JC seemed unfazed. He nodded and pointed to the page nearest him. “Okay. What about…this one? Damn near perfect, it just needs music. What are you thinking?”

They discussed a few options and decided on something rocky and upbeat with a driving bass line would really bring out the bridge and chorus. She started to hear the song in her head as he hummed and tapped on the table and imitated a heavy bass guitar. He hopped up and picked up a guitar and plugged it in, strumming out the skeleton of the song. Callie started to sing the lyrics she’d long since memorized, trying not to smile at how easy it had come together.

 “Okay, so we just need to work on the verses for that one.  We can talk about that after we’ve slept on it a little bit, if you need to.” He made his notes as Callie read over the lyrics again, singing it to herself in her head and imagined the music behind it.

“What do you think about starting out a little slower, not ballad slow, just quiet.  Then, building up to that heavy, hard beat through the chorus, and then backing down for verse two. From there I could belt the bridge and then carry it through the end. That way it ends high energy but I’m not screaming into the fadeout.”

“Or, we can just work on the verses right now,” JC said with a wide smile. “I thought you’d need a minute to come up with something.”

“I DO know how to write a song, Mr. Really Famous Nsync Guy.”

“Oh, ow…” JC feigned hurt, then went back to his notes.

“Aw, poor you.” Callie sighed and looked around the room. “You have some nice equipment down here.”

He stopped writing and looked around as if noticing the expensive collection of recording equipment for the first time. “Thanks. This is like, my second home. I’m always down here.”

Callie stood and gazed at the control board. “Someday when I settle down, an in-home studio would be nice.”

“Yeah, it is pretty nice,” JC answered absentmindedly.

“Blowin’ Me Up.” Callie said, suddenly. “That was you?”

JC blushed. He was in this room all day everyday. He forgot there was actually stuff to look at on the walls. Nsync, Drum line, and Schizophrenic posters plastered one wall, where Callie stood gawking. “Guilty,” he said shyly.

“I loved that song. I never knew that was you.”

“It’s me. A LONG time ago.”

“And it was on your album, right? Why didn't it do better? That song kicked ass.”

“It did alright. Uhm. Come back over here. Billable hours.” JC waived her back to the couch and she resumed her seat.

“You and your billable hours. Sorry, I didn’t think I was prying. Posters all over the wall and such.”

“I just only have a few hours today. I want to make them count. So…” he cleared his throat. “Let’s Start Over. Talk to me about it. I know it’s personal, but I can’t help you if I don’t know what I’m helping you with.” JC sat back in his chair and crossed one ankle over his knee. He was wearing socks but no shoes, loose jeans and a tshirt. Callie stared at him for a second and then tore her gaze away.

“Ok," she said, wringing her hands nervously. "So. You know Curtis Soul? He’s the lead…well, the only singer in ‘Soul Train’?”

“Your boyfriend, right?”

“Sometimes. Anyway. We have been having some rocky times for the last… forever. Since we met. It was hot and heavy for a very long time. Curtis was an older guy and I was in lust with him and I liked that he was in  a band and we 'got' each other, you know? So we were together about a year, and then we split up. And got back together. And split up. And then got back together, and then Soul Train got signed-- which they didn't expect-- and then I got signed and it's been an on again off again thing for years." Callie paused, fighting the swell of emotion. She hadn't talked about the 'young love' part of her relationship with Curits in a long while.. It just reminded her how dysfunctional they were now, and made her wish she could just let him go.

"I just can’t connect with him like I want to.  Like I used to be able to. I like him, he says he likes me…he says he LOVES me.  Just when we get together, it’s feast or famine, love or war. We’re either all over each other or we hate each other. This going back and forth… it’s rough. I’ve invested a lot in Curtis and… sometimes I think if we could just start over, go back to when we met and when it worked… maybe it would go better. So, that’s, in a nutshell, what it's about.”

JC nodded thoughtfully, hands clasped on his chin, and tapped his nose with a finger. “Mkay. I see how it would be hard to substitute exact moments in there. I wouldn’t want to sing my relationship either. But, if you don’t want to sing the song as is, and you want the song on your album, you have to come up with some alternatives. What if it wasn’t so…specific?”

“What do you mean?"

“I mean that maybe you can change..” He picked up the page of lyrics and started crossing out words, substituting other words in their place. They went back and forth on reworking the song and an hour later, both sat back, staring at the messy page that would only make sense to the two of them.

“See? Easy.” JC said, glancing over at her.

Callie stared at the page. “Oh yeah. Piece of cake. Now tell me, Producer Man. Music—and if you say this is a ballad I will get up and walk out of here and not come back.”

JC wagged his head from side to side. “No no no. Standard rhythm—nothing upbeat, nothing too slow. What did you have in mind when you wrote it?”

Callie liked how everything always came back to her, her intent, what she wanted. She was prepared to walk out if she felt like he was going to try to take her into a soft, weak position but he was playing off of what she wanted, and enhancing it. She was starting to like him, against every bone within her.

They talked more about the music, tossing ideas back and forth. Suddenly, JC sat up, checked his watch, and grimaced. “SHIT. I’m supposed to be downtown right now.  I don't mean to be rude, but I need to shower.” He stood up and she followed him up the stairs. “Uhm, you have to call a car, right? Where are you going, I can maybe drop you off? I’m gonna be out of here in 20 minutes, I don't think they'll get here in time.”

“Uhm, I’m staying with my friend, Paula. She lives in those new lofts, downtown. Republic, something?”

“Cool, that’s like ...around the corner from where I’m going. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.” He dashed through the living room and up the stairs and then it was quiet.

‘I’ve GOT to get a car,’ Callie thought to herself. She was embarrassed to be dropped off on the way to some event. And how was HE going to an event? She hadn’t been invited to anything… that she knew of. Callie shook her head to get rid of the sinking feeling. Ever since he’d told her his story, she was paranoid that she was on the way out. She didn’t want to become desperate to stay on the map.

Loud thumping down the stairs interrupted her thoughts and she looked up to see JC in a pair of black slacks, a white shirt, and matching jacket. His hair was still wet but combed into place and the scent of his cologne was intoxicating. He was chatting on the phone and pointed toward the stairs to the garage. Callie swallowed and stood up, following him to the garage and stepping into the passenger side of the luxury vehicle.

‘Ok, so he did REALLY well,’ she thought, looking around. Her coupe looked like a Yugo in comparison.

“This car… is amazing. It totally makes me want to trade in my coupe.”

“Thank you, this is my baby. I love her.” He turned the switch,  the engine purred to life, and he pulled out of the garage and down the street. They talked cars for a few minutes and then moved to Industry talk.

“So, what event are you headed to? I don’t get invited to anything but every award show ever created.”

“An award show,” he said, laughing. “Some dinner for something positive or another thing. I can’t remember. But lucky for you, it’s downtown and I can drop you off.”

“Thank you, so much for doing this. I feel like I’m a teenager, having to be dropped off at a friend’s house. I need to get a car here but I’m never really here long enough to need one, and Jason just automatically arranges a car.”

“Well, normally I wouldn’t have anything going on, I’d still be working and it wouldn’t be a big deal. I just… had to leave and I couldn’t leave you in the house, by yourself.”

“Well, I appreciate you doing this. I recognize the building, right up there,” Callie said, pointing ahead. He switched lanes and pulled in the parking lot, putting the car in park. He started to get out, but Callie stopped him. 

“No, no, don’t get out. I’m ok. Thank you. Have a great time tonight.”

“Thanks, I’ll see you on Thursday, same time?” Callie nodded and shut the door, stepping back so he could pull away. When he didn’t move, she walked around to the driver side, where he had rolled the window down.

“I’m not leaving till I see you walk in that door. Go on, now, I’m late,” he said with a laugh, and the window slid back up. She opened the door with flourish and walked inside. His car drove past, flashing his headlights before he pulled back out onto the street.

Callie sighed and headed toward the elevator. While waiting for it to arrive, her phone rang. She checked the display, and it was Curtis! Her heart skipped a beat and she picked up the line.

“Hey,” she said, stepping into the elevator.

“Hey, yourself. What’s with leaving me a bitchy message? You’re the one that never answers your phone when I call.”

“If you could just let me know when I can call you and you’ll actually be available, we wouldn’t have to play phone tag. Don’t yell at me, I’m not the one hiding. Where are you?”

“Toronto. Got a show tonight. Don’t you follow our tour schedule?”

“Whatever, Rockstar. I know you’re in Toronto. You’re in Toronto all week. I meant, right now. Hotel? Venue? Car?”

“Venue. So who’s the producer?”

Callie stepped out of the elevator and knocked on Paula’s door. She waved at Paula as the door opened and stepped in side. “Oh, you don’t want to know. It’s not as funny a week later.”

“Who is it? Is he lame?”

“No, not lame. Just… I didn’t expect things to go as well as they have, so I can’t really pick on him now.”

“Whatever. Callie Phelps can always pick on someone. Who is it? Tell me."

“JC Chasez.”

A loud, long cackle burst over the line.” I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you clearly. I thought you said JC Chasez, that weird dude from the Backstreet Boys or some shit.”

“It's 'Nsync, and I did.”

“Aww, MAN. I KNOW you had a fit about that. Are they serious? I told you, you should have gone with Atlantic. They’d never dump that guy on you.”

“Yeah I didn't like the idea at ALL at first but they said I had no choice. I don’t mind so much, now. He's cool, and I have some new songs we’re working with and I think they’re gonna sound good.”

“If they make the album.”

“Yeah, if they make the album.  It’s a numbers game, you know that. Why are you so negative?”

“Why are you taking up for him, is my question? He must be cute.” Callie rolled her eyes and plopped down in a comfortable chair. Paula had disappeared into her den--Callie could hear the canned laughter of some TV show coming from back there.

“Shut up, Curtis. Where’ve you BEEN all week? Why couldn’t I reach you?”

“Busy, baby. Busy.”

“Well, what did you do instead of the YPA’s? I only agreed to go to that because you said you were going. People is all over our ‘breakup’ because we weren’t there together.”

“I had stuff to do. Didn’t feel like flying in for one night. I called you, said I wouldn’t be there.”

“Yeah, after I already had my dress and shoes on.”

“Jesus, Callie, what do you want me to do? I couldn’t go, okay? What are you doing this week? Maybe you can come up?”

“I have sessions all week. I have an album to put out. I was trying to get together with you before this process started because I’m gonna be pretty busy up until and through the release.”

“Well, maybe I can come out to LA after this week.”

“I’m headed back to Chicago after this week, and you’re in New York.’ Callie sighed heavily.   “This isn’t working, Curt. I can’t… I know we wanted to try again but I can’t do this. You only talk to me when you want to,  your band has a show almost every night, when I’m free, you’re not. When you’re free, I’m not. I don’t know what else to do.”

“Wait, wait… Callie…” his voice softened. “It’s not like I don’t care about you. It’s just… we’re just going, all day, everyday. I’m tired and by the time I get to the phone, I just don’t feel like talking. You’re on your third album… this is our second. We’re still proving ourselves, working like we’re brand new. You know we have to strike while the iron is hot.”

“Yeah, I don’t have a problem with the work. I just… our schedules are completely opposite right now.”

“Not completely. Look, let me see what I can do, schedule-wise. Maybe I can leave right after our last show, hit Chicago for a couple days and then meet them in New York. No promises. I want to see you, I’m just… I have to work some things out, I guess.”

‘Okay,” she relented. ‘JC, you were right. I’m not all stone,’  she thought.

“So what time is your show tonight?”

“We go on at 8. Our opening act sucks. I hope people don’t leave.”

“Curtis!”

“What? It’s true. I don’t know what they call that, but it’s not music. Just a mess of guitar and drums. How do they even have fans?”

"Oh, how soon we forget. Remember when Soul Train was doing high school proms?”

“The difference, Callie, is that we didn’t suck!”

“Yeah, ok. That's your opinion.  I’m starving, so I’m gonna raid Paula’s fridge and kick back for the night. Let me know about Chicago. And stop hiding from me.”

“Ok. Have a good night, Cal. I love you.”

“I love you, too Curt. Have a good show.” Callie ended the call, not feeling particularly in love with Curtis, but was far from the anger she’d felt that morning when she still hadn’t heard from him. She wasn’t’ sure how much longer she could deal with his excuses, but… you were supposed to carry each other through the hard times, right? Right?

…

Two days later, Callie sat in front of a keyboard, sheet music and lyrics in front of her. Humming out the tune she was hearing in her head, she wrote and played, wrote and played, then reviewed it, changed it, wrote and played.

“Sounds like it’s coming together,” she heard from behind her. JC peered over her shoulder and hummed the notes she had written. “Oh, that’s not gonna end well, right there. Remember you have to go a up full step at the end of this line, to hit the chorus. You’re gonna hate yourself if you go from that low to that high.”

‘You and your cologne need to step off. I know what I’m doing,’ Callie thought, but edited the notes anyway. They hummed the bars together and then tested a launch into the chorus.  He nodded and stepped back. Callie smiled to herself.

“Yeah, so you were right. You want a cookie? You’re a producer.”

“I would love a cookie,” he joked, then stood at the console. “When do you think you’ll be ready to record these two?”

“Uhm… provided we get the lyrics worked out today and tomorrow… I need to get the music to the band for them record the track… week after next maybe? Is that too late?

“Nope, perfect. I was thinking the same. And while the band is working on that we can move on to some other songs, then record the first two while the band works on the next ones.”

“You’re a machine.” Callie was becoming accustomed to his relaxed but no nonsense work ethic.

“On purpose, hon—Callie. Sorry.”

“It’s ok.  I know you’re not being condescending.” She absentmindedly played a short tune on the keyboard and then stopped.

JC's head shot up. “What was that?” he asked.

“Nothing, " she answered quickly.

"Callie. That was awesome. What was it?"

"it's...just something I used to play a lot. Out of habit, my fingers just automatically go there.”

“What song is it?”

“It’s not anything released. I… I wrote it for my dad. He said it was his favorite song. I sang it at his funeral.”

JC slid next to her on the bench, his tone of voice solemn. “I was sorry to hear about your dad. There was a big write-up on him when he passed.”

Callie did a double take, her eyebrows raised. “Yeah, there was. How did you know…?”

“Well, my parents live in Chicago. He was big news up there. That's... kinda how I know about you.”

"Really... wow.  I don’t meet many people who know about Charlie Phelps.”

“I’m a jazz fan, so whenever I’d go see my parents I’d stop in to the Club and see him. He had those magic fingers, flying all over the keyboard.”

Callie laughed and imitated him, playing one of his famous tunes with lighting fast fingers.

JC laughed and gave her a short round of applause. “Yeah, exactly like that. Whenever I try it my fingers end up all tangled together.”

“I can’t do it for more than a few bars.” Callie sighed, playing the tune again, slower and sadder. “I miss him. I tell myself I got into music to honor him and make him proud of me. And then I go out and sing ‘I hate you, I want to cut your dick off’. He so would not approve of the stuff I sing… but it’s what I relate to, right now.”

“And that’s ok. It’s you. Don’t feel bad about being yourself. It’s just that… you should let yourself change and your music should reflect that. Even Alanis and Avril had to let go of the Angry Chick Rock thing, even though it served its purpose, in its time. You see people like Kelly Clarkson mixing a little angry chick with a little sensitive chick with a little strong chick. I think a mix of your uhm… previous sound and these new tunes are gonna totally throw people for a loop. In a good way.”

“Let’s hope.”

“So…left turn… what’s up with Jason? Why are you such a bitch to him?”

“I’m a bitch to everyone," she said, plunking random keys on the keyboard.  "it keeps people away from me."

But he's family," said JC.

Callie's head whipped toward him and her fist slammed down onto the keys. "Jason is NOT my family!  He is my mom’s husband’s son and I'm not impressed with either of them.  Dimwit had been out of Business school a year when I got signed,  and was running a division of his dad’s company. It wasn’t doing too badly, so my mom talked me into hiring him on a short term basis, until I found someone permanent."  She ran her fingers through her hair, her hands shaking. JC sat silently, waiting for her to continue.

"Well, that was six years ago. No one else would put up with me, and Jason... well by now, he knows how to handle me.”

JC tilted his head toward her, as if he was ready to hear a secret. “And how does one ‘handle’ Callie Phelps?”

Callie blushed, laughed, and then admitted, “One ignores her until she stops throwing a temper tantrum. Now you’ve learned a BIG secret.”

“Ah ha. I’ll tuck that away in case I need it.”

“You might," she said, playing with the keyboard again. "I won’t be this nice for much longer. Pretty soon I’m gonna start throwing Diva fits.”

“I thought we were already past that.”

She shook her head violently. “Oh no, no no. I’m even ruder to people I like.”

“Oh, great. So much for getting you to like me.”

Callie stopped playing with the keyboard and smiled at JC. “Now you've gone and done it! ”